The Royal Dungeon of the Kingdom of Mason.
The air was permeated with a stale smell of rust and damp mold.
Irene curled up in the corner of the cold stone bed. The apron she wore, covered in soot, had become tattered, and her face was filthy.
Her hair, which had been messy to begin with, now looked like a bird's nest that had been struck by lightning.
Half an hour ago, a group of fully armed, expressionless Royal Guards had rushed into her secret workshop.
Without a word of nonsense, they kicked over the boiler where she was brewing alkaline water and stuffed her into a carriage like they were carrying a chick.
It's over. It's all over.
Irene let out a howl of despair in her heart.
Why did I have to transmigrate to this damn Middle Ages?
Why did my hands have to itch to make soap?
In this era where one has to pay taxes even to breathe, and lords hold the power of life and death, my actions were like performing nuclear fusion in front of a group of primitives. Isn't this purely seeking death?
Especially since the Kingdom of Mason is currently under the rule of that "Girl Tyrant".
Even hiding in the slums, Irene had heard the rumors about Sophia Mason until calluses grew on her ears...
Poisoning her eldest brother, entrapping her second brother, forcing away her biological sister, and even the disappearance of the old King—all were extremely likely to be the handiwork of this tyrant.
"Creak—"
The heavy iron door made a harsh friction sound.
The light of a torch shone in, stinging Irene's eyes and causing her to reflexively close them.
The sound of leather boots stepping on the stone slabs was crisp and rhythmic; every step felt like it was trampling on Irene's heart.
"Your Majesty, the prisoner is here."
The old butler Victor's husky voice sounded, carrying a submissiveness akin to facing a deity.
Irene opened her eyes trembling.
In that moment, she felt as if she were seeing a miracle.
A silver-haired girl wearing a pure black Gothic dress and a golden crown stood quietly at the dungeon door.
The dim firelight of the dungeon interwoven behind her plated her in a nearly holy golden silhouette.
Her skin was pale as the finest porcelain, her features exquisite enough not to belong to the mortal world, and those pale golden eyes, dead silent as a deep pool, were watching her without a single ripple.
There was no ferocity as imagined, nor the anticipated fury.
Sophia just stood there quietly, yet she radiated a suffocating oppression of a superior being.
Sophia took out that slightly rough bar of soap from her cuff and spoke in that modulation-free, bone-chillingly cold tone:
"You made this?"
Irene's throat was dry. She felt like a young rabbit targeted by a high-ranking predator; even her breathing became cautious.
"Yes, yes, Great Majesty.
That is just... just a failed product of alchemy. If it has offended you..."
"The cleaning power is not bad." Sophia interrupted her.
She took a step closer, and the light penetrating the iron bars allowed Irene to see her face clearly.
It was a face completely devoid of any expression, indifferent to the extreme, yet beautiful to the extreme.
In the eyes of Irene, a "science geek," this extreme calmness signified extreme rationality and absolute control. She dared not look directly at the tyrant.
"In this kingdom, manufacturing and selling such items without permission is a capital offense."
Sophia stared at Irene, who was trembling at this moment.
Thus, Sophia decided to offer her conditions in the most concise manner.
"I will give you two choices."
Sophia extended two pale fingers, her voice echoing in the narrow cell.
"First, be executed here in this dungeon according to the law."
Irene's heart skipped a beat.
"Second."
Sophia tilted her head slightly, her expression still like that of a cold goddess statue.
"Be of use to me.
I will provide materials, funds, and protection.
You will be responsible for turning the 'inventions' I conceive into reality, one by one."
Irene was stunned.
This wasn't an execution, this was... recruitment?
But the chill revealed in this recruitment made her understand that if she dared to say the word "No," the grass on her grave might be two meters high by this time next year.
"Do... do I have another path?" Irene asked weakly.
Sophia leaned down, that breath-takingly beautiful face pressing close to the iron bars, her emotionless eyes looking straight into the depths of Irene's soul.
"What do you think?"
Sophia felt a bit depressed.
If this person resisted to the death, where would she find a second transmigrator who knew how to invent?
But in Irene's view, this was simply the Grim Reaper's ultimatum.
The eyes of the Girl Tyrant seemed to say: Your soul and body belong to the throne from now on. Defiers die.
"I accept! I am willing to serve you! Your Majesty!"
Irene nodded frantically. That desire for survival, interwoven with the longing for future research funding, made her kneel directly at Sophia's feet.
Heaven knows how hard it was for her to get some experimental materials in the slums!
She also had to guard against distant relatives she barely knew selling her for grain every day. She didn't even dare to wash her face in the slums!
"Very good."
Sophia straightened up and turned to instruct Victor,
"Take her to the West Tower. Prepare the best food and hot water for her.
Without my permission, no one is allowed to disturb her."
After speaking, Sophia turned and left, her black skirt tracing a cold arc in the air.
Victor watched the Queen's retreating figure, exclaiming in his heart.
As expected of Her Majesty.
First crushing the other's will with the fear of death, then buying them over with grace like a deity.
This method of applying both kindness and severity is simply a hundred times more seasoned than the old King.
That girl looks like a genius with both ability and thought, yet she was completely subdued by Her Majesty's aura so quickly.
Meanwhile, Sophia, who was walking in the dungeon passage, breathed a long sigh of relief in her heart.
Phew, finally dealt with one.
Although this inventor's brain seems a bit slow—she kept shivering—since she can make soap, she must be able to make shampoo that doesn't require washing with alkaline water, right?
Washing my hair with that low-quality soap every day is going to make it wither.
Sophia began to outline a grand blueprint for the future in her mind.
Steam engines, light bulbs... those are too far off.
The primary task right now is to have Irene make easy-to-use and fragrant toiletries, and then figure out a way to improve that black bread which is harder than a brick.
Having grown accustomed to life in the Imperial Capital, she only realized after returning to the Kingdom of Mason that the difference in living standards between the Imperial Capital and the subsidiary small nations was immense.
Things like coarse steamed buns and black bread, which no one would spare a second glance at in the Imperial Capital, are things that some residents in this small kingdom can't even afford.
Priority number one is to solve the problem of food and warmth.
She did not know that at this moment, Irene, who was sitting in the carriage heading to the laboratory, was hugging her knees and shivering.
Too terrifying. Is she really human?
I didn't see a single trace of 'human' fluctuation in her.
The Tyrant must be plotting a conspiracy sufficient to subvert the entire world.
And I have now been reduced to a pawn in her hands. To survive, I must show some real skill so she feels I still have value to be utilized!
Otherwise... otherwise the 'disappearance' of a commoner won't be noticed by anyone at all!
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